Last night I was in the kitchen looking for something, anything, to satisfy a sudden craving for sugar when Bud padded up and gave me one of the standard greetings in his Buddinese repertoire.
It’s just a “Hmmmmph!” in his high, Elmo-like voice, an acknowledgement that he sees me and he’s watching with interest, but without any of the typical demands or strong opinions attached.
“Hmmmmmph!” I replied.
“Hmmmmmph!” he said again, and we went back and forth until he stopped, tilted his head curiously, and gave me a look that said “Are you making fun of me again?”
I couldn’t help myself and busted out laughing, bending down to mess up the fur on top of his head as he rubbed up against my leg.
Of course I can’t actually prove that he understands our little exchange, but I know in my heart that he does. Sometimes he gets indignant when I laugh at him. Sometimes I get indignant when he gleefully smacks me or tries to chew on my glasses.
But mostly we laugh together, and he understands that human laughter is a happy sound, even when he’s deeply confused about what exactly I find so funny.
Will I ever have this kind of bond with another cat? I don’t know. It’s taken more than a decade to get here, a decade of being inseparable and understanding each other on a fundamental level.
But I’m not going to spoil it by spending too much time thinking about it. That would ruin the joke.
With their otter-like features, their squeaky vocalizations and their mastery of multiple environments, jaguarundis are unique in the world of cats.
Jaguarundi
Taxonomic name:Herpailurus yagouaroundi Genus: Felis (small cats) Size: Males weigh up to 20 lbs, with typical sexual dimorphism for felid species Lifespan: Up to 20 years in captivity Gestation: 75 days Litter size: Between one and four kittens per litter Distribution: Almost the entirety of South America as well as the southern US IUCN Red List status: Least concern, but threatened by habitat loss
If you spot a jaguarundi in the wild, there’s a good chance you won’t know what you’re looking at.
Their sleek, elongated bodies are almost weaselesque when seen from the side, an impression made stronger by the way their heads are shaped in profile. From some angles they can strongly resemble otters, an likeness strengthened by their short, dusky coats.
But seen head-on they’re definitely cats, and even though they’re small felines — about one and a half to two times the size of domestic kitties — their facial features can be reminiscent of big cats, especially their broader noses, rounded ears and the set of their eyes.
Seen from an angle like this, jaguarundis resemble jaguar cubs:
Indeed, jaguarundi means “dark jaguar” in Old Guarani, an extinct predecessor of the Tupi family of indigenous languages that were spoken in South America for thousands of years before the arrival of the conquistadors and the Spanish language. Modern variants of the language still exist in countries like Paraguay, which may account for the enduring names of several species of western hemisphere cats. (Jaguar itself is based on the indigenous Tupi word “yguara,” and pumas have dozens of surviving names with indigenous roots to go along with their many names in English.)
As New World cats, jaguarundis boast an impressive range that stretches from southern Argentina through Latin America and into the lower US states.
Like their larger cousins, the jaguars, jaguarundis are comfortable in the water and are strong swimmers. They’re also adept hunters on land, excellent climbers, and they’re impressively sure-footed while traversing branches high above ground level.
In short, the adaptable felines can just about do it all.
Note the otter-like appearance of the jaguarundi head in side profile.
In the wild, jaguarundis have been known to hunt prey as large as small deer and help themselves to seafood snacks when the mood strikes them, but analyses of their diets shows they have a strong preference for mammals, particularly a variety of wild rodents found in dense jungles and forests.
Jaguarundis don’t just look different compared to other cats — they sound different as well.
Conservationists call the jaguarundi’s vocalizations “whistles” and “chirps,” but to us they sound more like squeaks.
Take a listen for yourself:
It’s illegal under the Big Cat Public Safety Act to keep jaguarundis as pets, and the jaguarundi curl, a breed meant to mimic the appearance of the jaguarundi, is not related to the wild cat.
While they’re known to range in Texas and Arizona, sightings of jaguarundis are rare. From a distance their movement looks almost indistinguishable from those of house cats, and they’re famously elusive — by the time most people do a double take, the shy felines have disappeared into tall grass, brush or jungle.
Named after a powerful prime minister, Palmerston was a hungry stray who was found on the streets of London and quickly made his mark when he was appointed mouser to the UK’s Foreign Office.
Some sad news today: Palmerston, the UK Foreign Office’s strong-willed mouser and foil to Larry the Cat, has passed away.
Palmerston was scooped up in 2016 “as a hungry, underweight stray wandering the streets of London, with no owner traced and no microchip,” London’s Battersea Cats and Dogs noted in a post.
The Foreign Office staff were looking for a new mouser to keep rodents at bay in Whitehall when Battersea recommended the cute tuxedo, and recognizing greatness, the staff brought the little guy on immediately and named him after Henry John Temple, better known as Lord Palmerston, who served as prime minister in the 1850s during the height of the British Empire.
Palmerston the cat, just two years old at the time, took to his new job with enthusiasm — perhaps too much so. The territorial tuxedo quickly developed a reputation for turf battles with his rival mouser, No. 10 Downing St.’s Larry the Cat.
Their skirmishes, which often occurred within the full view of reporters and photographers covering UK government, soon became the stuff of legend, producing several iconic images of the two felines in battle in their eternal struggle for status as top cat in the UK government.
The fearless feline’s hijinx included invading Larry’s inner sanctum in 2016 when he snuck through an open door at No. 10, and while Larry was known for visiting his “lady friend,” Maisie, Palmerston struck up a relationship with Freya, another mouser with a post on Downing Street.
When society’s gears grinded to a halt with the 2020 lockdowns in response to the COVID pandemic, Palmerston “retired” to the countryside with his loyal human, former Royal Navy officer Andrew Murdoch.
Little Lord P enjoyed the quiet life for several years before thrilling fans a year ago with his announcement that he was returning to public life as “feline relations consultant” to Murdoch in his new post as governor of Bermuda.
Admirers followed Palmerston’s antics in the tropical locale via updates on social media. He was living the high life, free of Larry’s evil machinations.
Palmerston patrolling Downing Street.
Palmerston died on Feb. 12, Murdoch wrote in a post on the famous feline’s X account.
“‘Palmy’ was a special member of the Government House team in Bermuda, and a much loved family member,” the post reads. “He was a wonderful companion, with a gentle nature, and will be sorely missed.”
A reply from Larry’s account indicated the former rivals had called a truce: “Farewell old friend,” Larry’s servants wrote on his behalf.
Palmerston, left, and Larry, right, during one of their epic battles while Palmerston was still top cat at Whitehall.We had a lot of fun with the Palmerston-Larry rivalry here on PITB, admiring both mousers.
While this is sad news, Palmerston will not be forgotten, and we’re confident he’ll take to his new post across the rainbow bridge with the same zeal he applied to his work on behalf of the people of the UK. RIP, little guy.
Hat tip to our friend Platypus Man, who notified us of today’s sad news. If you enjoy photos of far-flung locales, check out his blog, which features posts about his many travels around the world. Thanks, P!
Buddy the Cat’s female admirers, both feline and human, say he is a sexy beast.
NEW YORK — For the third night in a row, Buddy the Cat rolled onto his back, belched thunderously, and settled down for a restful nap surrounded by the devoured remnants of treats and snacks gifted to him for Valentine’s Day.
“It’s wonderful to be so loved that hundreds of Valentines Day packages are deliv…ooh, bacon-flavored crunchies!” Buddy said, breaking his train of thought after discovering six or seven of the little treats under a pile of opened and discarded packages.
“Where was I?” the bloated feline asked, blinking. “Oh yeah. It’s such a great feeling to have so many admirers that … mmmm, sandwich … every day brings new …* burp *! … gifts of food to sample and … oh, I love turkey gravy!”
The chubby tabby has been the recipient of countless Valentine’s Day gifts this year, reflecting his considerable popularity among females, both feline and human. He’s been eating his way through them with enthusiasm since the packages began arriving.
Witnesses report the well-fed feline was unable to complete a sentence without getting distracted and stopping to shovel food into his mouth mid-sentence.
“He only stops eating when he falls asleep,” one witness told PITB. “At this rate, his human will have to roll him around like a boulder because, frankly, I’m not sure anyone makes a cat carrier with material strong enough to lift him without ripping apart.”
As of press time, Buddy had fallen asleep with a sloppy hand-written note taped to his forehead, asking visitors to leave Valentine’s Day gifts in one of the 27 provided baskets.
The Gremlin-like felids have some unusual habits compared to other cats in addition to the trademark scowls that distinguish them from other feline species.
The fact that they live in burrows and crevices is the first indication that Pallas cats are the weirdos of the feline family.
The small, bushy little creatures greet the day by poking their heads out of their burrows just enough to see what’s going on. Thanks to the low profile of their ears, which stick out almost horizontally, only their eyes and tufts of frosty-looking fur are visible in those first moments.
When they’re satisfied nothing’s going to vex them further than their usual, seemingly perpetually-annoyed default, they fully emerge from their dens, and that’s when their true form becomes apparent.
Behold grumpiness incarnate:
“These kittens today, they want everything now. No patience and not a lick of common sense between ’em. Hey! Get off my lawn, you little cretins…” Credit: Wikimedia Commons“Would it kill these dogs to clean up after themselves? Sheesh! You don’t see me defecating all over everything. When nature calls, I do what civilized cats do, find a private spot and bury my business. Hey! Hey! Don’t you dare move that rock!”
These little guys look like they start every day off getting rained on while birds with impeccable aim empty their bowls on their heads. Then they file out, each one grumbling, and engage in their species’ favorite pastime — complaining about everything, like a perpetual Airing of Grievances on Festivus or a communal bitching session about joint pain at the local senior center.
“Oh, my back! For crying out loud! They couldn’t have dug this tunnel at a more forgiving angle? Aww crap, look at the weather! Hunting in this is gonna suck. Lenny, is there any more of the rabbit from last night? No? Of course not. And we’re out of coffee again! I don’t know why I even roll out of the burrow. This place is a dump!”
First observed and written about — in the western world, at least — by Peter Simon Pallas in 1776, Pallas cats are about the same size as our domestic feline buddies, but they look stockier thanks to their heavy coats. Pallas, a Prussian explorer and naturalist, was presumably going about his day when he heard a group of these malcontents complaining from a mile or two away.
“Whatchu lookin’ at?” Credit: Wikimedia Commons
Jokes aside, Pallas cats only look angry to us because we anthropomorphize them. Difficult as it is to believe with their convincing scowls, there’s no evidence to suggest they’re actually grumpy.
The fact that they sometimes co-occupy burrows means they have a cooperative and social component to their behavior that many cat species lack. You won’t find tigers cooperatively hunting, napping in communal burrows or padding out together to greet the crepuscular morning, but that’s what Pallas cats do. That’s a pretty good indication of a sunnier disposition than their trademark scowls indicate.
Here’s a remarkably clear and close video showing a Pallas cat mom poking her head out from a burrow and making sure the coast is clear before emerging with her four cubs close behind her:
Spread throughout mainland Asia, and concentrated most heavily in Mongolia, Kyrgyzstan, Bhutan and parts of China, individual Pallas cats move between different burrows and crevices depending on the need for cover and the season. They’re found on the vast plains of Mongolia, as well as in mountains like the Himalayas and the Altai range.
They usually top out at about 10 pounds and primarily hunt rodents, pikas, shrews and other small, ground- and underground-dwelling prey, but like most cats they’re adept ambush hunters and take opportunities where they find them.
Happily, and owing partly to their remote habitats, Pallas cats are one of the few wild species that are not listed as threatened or endangered on the IUCN Red List.
Header image credit: Wikimedia Commons
Proof they don’t scowl in every photo. Credit: Wikimedia Commons
Pain In The Bud 